


Sinful

by shitkai



Category: Ensemble Stars, enstars
Genre: M/M, Masturbation, Unrequited Love, Why Did I Write This?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-24
Updated: 2017-02-24
Packaged: 2018-09-26 16:18:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9910853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shitkai/pseuds/shitkai
Summary: Souma likes Adonis





	

**Author's Note:**

> I wasn't going to post this cause it's so embarrassing and yet,

Souma doesn't like unnecessary things.

Like the feelings deep within him. Plaguing him like a disease.

He feels as if he can drown in this feeling, as warm as it is. Fall into it and disappear. Other times it feels unrelenting, scratching at his neck with its talons until he feels as if he might die.

Souma hates how unnecessary these thoughts are, because he simply hates unnecessary things.

And yet he feels as if everything happens for a reason.

He is just a boy, he's a boy, but he wishes to grow into a man. These thoughts and feelings that make his chest tight and his eyes snap open in the middle of the night; it makes him wonder if he'll be the man he wants to if he continuously acts like a child.

His breathing is labored, hot and heavy in the privacy and darkness of his bedroom. Souma can feel his unkept locks of indigo hair against the skin of his neck. It itches from the heat, his nails impulsively reaching to sedate the prickly, irate feeling of his skin.

He stops himself from touching midway, a sigh leaving his chapped lips before he darts his tongue out to wet them.

All he needs to do is endure.

Endure the irritable itching, the unbearable tightness in his chest, these unnecessary feelings…

Because he's sick of running away. Tired of ignoring the perpetual curse that is this feeling. No, he must face it, take it in stride, and live with it.

Souma has no name for this ache in his chest. This funny fluttering feeling in his stomach. What would he even label it? _"Like?" "Love?"_

No, No, it goes deeper than that, runs through him and makes his veins push hot blood through his body. Makes his eyelids flutter shut and his hand somehow… _Somehow he…_

A breath leaves Souma audibly, and he wonders how he's in such a state again. It isn't uncommon anymore, something so sinful, and that in itself, is a sin.

His head is nestled sweetly into the plush off-white of his pillows, body arched onto itself under his duvet. His hand, it guides itself in a slow, aching motion that drives Souma wild and makes him turn into a mess of himself.

He isn't there yet. His brows furrow in frustration, and he almost stops, but he feels the feeling again. It's so intense that it almost drives Souma insane; so he keeps going nonetheless, moving his hand in calculated strokes.

His eyes open just for a second, but when he closes them, _His_ face is there behind his eyelids.

Souma can't really stop himself after that.

He wonders, while tightening his grip just a little, _How would we have sex?_

It's an embarrassing thought, that only creeps up on him at times like this, but he can't help it.

_Would I hold him?_

Souma can vividly picture Adonis' face, calm, with those golden doe eyes that almost send him into a frenzy. Just the thought of him, cheeks flushed with his purple hair mused as gravity takes it from his face and onto the pillow. Souma might just get ahead of himself if he imagines his voice, so he decides against it; just basking in the glow of this dream, that feels sickeningly like a nightmare the more it isn't real.

In this position, with Adonis holding Souma tight with his legs around his waist, the indigo haired male can see his face, amongst other things. Like the trembling of his body, the gentle rocking of their bodies as if they're one. Like a boat drifting on the everlasting seas.

Souma can feel it welling up in his chest, the plaguing feeling.

 _Would he hold me?_ He thinks.

This is the way it usually goes, with Adonis' hair falling into his face. Souma can feel him, his breath, his heartbeat, his skin. _Adonis-Dono, Adonis-Dono…_ Souma thinks. It's too much at once.

The aching in his chest, and the vision of his dream Adonis, it overwhelms him.

The Otogari Adonis in Souma's fantasies, he's gentle. He moves slow, but Souma knows he need not to. He isn't frail.

He tempts Souma with his flawless bronze skin, that in actuality, is flawful, but it doesn't matter to him. Adonis is perfect as is.

Souma drowns in an uncharted mix of pain and pleasure, both in the dream and in real life.

He curses, something someone as gracious and humble as a samurai doesn't do. But while samurai, such as Kanzaki Souma, are gracious and humble, they are not sinless. And in the cool evening air, Souma sins. Wickedly, blissfully, with the condensed puffs of air from his lips appearing ghost white. With his hand rubbing his bare, raw skin. Hips moving in agonizing tandem with the rhythm of his unreal rendezvous.

"Adonis-Dono…" his voice gives out an indefinite cry, the noise shameful, so much so that it makes the heat in his stomach coil tighter. Like the springs in his very own mattress, Souma feels wound up, ready to burst any second.

_"Adonis-Dono…!"_

He sounds more sure of himself, his voice desperate and filled with wanton.

In his dream, the Otogari Adonis there is much too shy, too calm and too caring; because Souma can't picture him any other way. It infuriates and excites him simultaneously. The way Adonis makes love to him, it's almost body numbing.

Just picturing him, stealing Souma's virgin mouth for his first kiss, it drives him over the edge so quick that he feels like he'll get a speeding ticket. His heart races as fast as his mind as he struggles to come down from the high of his orgasm.

And then Souma tumbles.

He plummets down from his place in the clouds and his eyes open frantically.

His room feels foreign to him. It's as if he's gone through an awful lucid dream, which Souma presumes while pulling his soiled hand from his underwear, he has.

A breath escapes his lips as if trapped in his tight lungs, and his inhalation and exhalation are thoroughly exaggerated. Souma's breathing comes quick and hurried, before slowing as he somehow calms the quaking of his limbs.

An indistinguishable sound breaks free from his vocal chords before he sits up to awkwardly wipe his hand with one of the tissues on his bedside table.

_Those are for his nose, he swears._

Souma feels the feeling, pressing against his chest and somehow going through it to grip his heart. It draws his entire body taut and makes him want to scream, but Souma doesn't. He won't.

His legs feel gelatin-like, and his hair spills over his naked shoulders. Night is still upon him, yet Souma can't seem to sleep anymore.

Lithe fingers touch his lips, a smile cracking his face as he tries to remember how vividly he pictured Adonis kiss them. His smile turns sullen and suddenly he's angry.

Angry at himself for having these disgraceful feelings. Angry for thinking of his closest and most valued confidantes in such a lewd, debauched way. He's sad about his unrequited feelings of which have no name, angry about being so low as to have such thoughts, and ashamed. He's ashamed that he sins so brazenly, so freely.

Finally, Souma understands the black void that lives within him. The feelings that swallow him and grow on him, icky like mold.

 _Lust_.

**Author's Note:**

> Souma hasn't even confessed yet why is he so edgy


End file.
